8. Graveyard of the Mastodons

CASCADE

CHAPTER 8

Cascade had never traveled in this valley before. As they walked on, it veered unexpectedly away from the mountain pass his uncle and the others still journeyed, instead casting the pair off in the direction of the God. He figured they'd commit to traversing the lowland and make up for lost time on the easier terrain. Then they'd climb up and over the valley's rim and cross over toward Mountainhome once they'd traveled near enough to the smoking mountain to do so.

"This would be better with moccasins," Entin complained.

Cascade felt terrible about the shoes. His uncle had ordered all the captives' footwear gathered up to make it harder for them to get away if they tried.

"We can take turns with mine if you like," he offered.

He stopped and began to remove his well-worn leathers.

"It was just a joke. I'm fine," Entin said, keeping him from his efforts with a gentle hand.

They'd traveled for many hours, and Cascade's forehead was hot and sweaty in the midday sun.

"Here, have some water," he offered.

His waterskin had grown perilously light. He knew he'd have to keep an eye out for moving water to fill it with. Entin sipped from it, then handed it back. Cascade took a swig. It tasted stale and warm and did little to quench his mounting thirst.

The section of the valley they'd recently entered had burned at some point, and where once they'd enjoyed the shade of the towering fir trees, now there was nothing to prevent the fall sun from slowly roasting them. Even with its diminished strength, the lack of shade was taxing, and the blackened terrain only magnified the heat. The pair picked along unenthusiastically.

"Your home is beautiful," Entin remarked dully.

"Mountainhome is nothing like this. Don't worry. The caves aren't as bad as you might think, either. They certainly look better than this," Cascade assured him.

But he glanced around uncertainly. This place made him uneasy—it felt like the sort of place childhood stories spoke of spirits dwelling in.

"I suppose this looks more like my home after what your uncle did to it," Entin muttered.

"Once I've dealt with him, I'll see to it that my people make it right by yours. I promise," Cascade said.

The landscape around them was nearly monochromatic. There were so many black-silver burnt logs jumbled about that he hadn't noticed at first the places in the ground where bubbling pools of mud dotted their scorched surroundings.

"What exactly is this place?" Entin asked, sounding disgusted.

"No idea. But I don't like it any more than you do," Cascade grunted.

He noticed then that the air had taken on a putrid, rotting stench. Sulfur. And between the smell, the burn, and the Slumbering God still billowing away ominously in the background, he suddenly had a distinct feeling that they'd wandered somewhere they shouldn't have. It was an animal feeling, a prescient survival instinct: danger.

That's when he spotted the dire wolves.

Cascade froze in his tracks. He grabbed Entin by the back of his leathers and put his finger to his lips. Then he pointed Entin's attention to the slumbering pack. It was likely the very same they'd heard the night prior. It appeared they'd taken down an old mastodon just as he'd seen in his vision. The kill was enormous and nearly stripped clean of flesh. There had to be thirty or forty wolves, each many times the size of a man. But they'd eaten their fill—and most were lazing in the sunlight or gnawing on fragments of bone. One looked right at them, and the sight of its giant, predatory muzzle snarling slightly made Cascade want to flee.

"Don't run. They are beasts, just like us. Behave as they do," Entin advised.

Cascade looked at him, then watched in shock as he straightened his shoulders and stared the wolf down. The wolf's ears flattened, and its snarl deepened, but then it whimpered and grabbed its bone before running off. The others continued to ignore them or slumber in the broken sunlight.

For the first time since he'd spotted the wolves, Cascade breathed.

"You're just full of surprises," he said quietly.

Entin grinned at him, and the pair skirted the pack. Cascade found that despite Entin's instructions, he couldn't keep his eyes off the wolves for more than a moment. He expected at any second to turn and see one of them silently vaulting toward him, mouth gnashing and full of bone-crushing teeth…

But he was wrong to worry. The wolves didn't care about them. They were content with their meat and sunshine, and the two humans passing through were an oddity not worth investigating. Even so, Cascade found himself looking over his shoulder long after they passed out of sight. He wished he had a spear or even one of his bolas—but all they had was the cutting stone and the fire-making equipment. He was even out of berries now. His stomach grumbled.

Ahead, the burn they'd been traversing finally came to an abrupt end.

"Water!" Entin cried.

And he was right. A broad, shallow stream had acted as a firestop many seasons ago. Beyond it, the forest was thick and lush, the evergreens offering the welcome respite of shade. Entin was already drinking from the stream, splashing his face and neck. Cascade joined him and readily filled his skin with the ice-cold water.

"What are these?" Entin marveled.

He was holding a small handful of orange-red pearls. They were translucent and shimmered in the sunlight. Cascade knew instantly what they were.

"It's roe!"

And with that, he plucked one of the little eggs out of Entin's hand and placed it in his mouth. The sack burst between his teeth—to his delight, the liquid within was briny and satisfying.

Entin looked at him uncertainly, then tried a fish egg of his own.

"Huh. Not bad."

"Come, let's find more!" Cascade beckoned.

He removed his moccasins and waded out into the shallows. The elder salmon had already died off. Once they laid their eggs, they transformed into demons. Cascade had been horrified by them as a boy, watching in dismay as their bodies began to rot long before they actually died and returned to the spirits. Their husks were strewn about here and there amidst the shallows, and their smell was awful.

"What are we looking for?" Entin asked.

He'd bent down to inspect one of the dead salmon.

"They dig little beds for their eggs—look for mounds in the gravel along the bottom of the stream," Cascade instructed.

"Like this?" Entin was pointing to precisely what Cascade had been looking for.

"Yes… just like that."

He couldn't help but smile as he crossed over to Entin, who seemed to pick up on spotting things far quicker than he did.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Cascade asked.

Entin knelt in the water, carefully scooping the top layer of pebbles off the mound. Underneath, thousands and thousands of orange eggs nestled within a shallow basin. A few floated away as Entin stared at Cascade in amazement.

"Well, don't just look at me! Eat before we lose them all!" Cascade urged.

Entin grabbed a slimy handful of the roe, and Cascade did the same. They feasted on as much of it as they could stomach, clearing mound after mound between the two of them. Afterward, Cascade retrieved his shoes and joined Entin on the far shore. They sat together on a large rock overlooking a bend in the stream, staring back over the burn in the direction they had come from.

Dotted amongst the trees, the enormous skeletons of great, tusked mastodons lay half buried, and Cascade saw from this new vantage that the place they had just walked through was one of the sacred graveyards the beasts returned to year after year to visit the spirits of their dead. He understood now why it had given him the chills.

Cascade hoped they hadn't defiled it with their intrusion. Even if he wasn't a true believer, the idea of an angry spirit was the last thing he needed to worry about. But to his dismay, the possibility that such a thing might be real was becoming harder and harder to dismiss.